


Bright on the Sand

by heroictype (swanreaper)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:25:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanreaper/pseuds/heroictype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, out in the desert. Carlos is doing some fieldwork, Cecil pays him a visit, and they both forget something. If there's more to the story, they don't need to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright on the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> So the other day I was really tired but annoyed because I hadn't written anything in a while. And I wanted to change that, but also I didn't really have a specific concept. I just went at it, and this is what happened. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but I think it works?
> 
> Actually, I guess it just became fluff, or at least that's part of it.
> 
> Also, yeah, I don't know anything about science or deserts! But Carlos' brand of science is unique, anyway.

The desert is hot.

Carlos is on his knees in the dirt, and his lab coat has short sleeves, but there is still a shirt under it, and under that, sweat.

The line between sand and dust is thin, and it all feels like mud under his knees, anyway. One immediate layer of wet, rocky fragments.

He digs his fingers into the earth, and he thinks about life and water, in a nonspecific way. He thinks that life and water are connected, but you can have one without the other. He thinks that water does just fine without life, but scientifically speaking, it doesn’t work the other way around.

He is very thirsty, he isn’t worried about that. Behind him is a town, and there’s plumbing in the town. He can have water whenever he wants, with little more effort than walking a few feet. That’s what science does. Architecture might have something to do with it, too, but all he understands is the part that’s science - pressure and angles, and how to make something move in defiance of gravity.

Also, he forgot his water bottle in the van. He thinks about that, in a very specific way. In a personal way. But he doesn’t want to go back yet.

* * *

The desert is hot.

Cecil crunches over the sand, and in his hand is a water bottle, green, with ticks up the side to show how many milliliters it contains. He found it in a car, and the car was unlocked. It’s locked now. Though Night Vale is a small, friendly town, and any theft would be captured by the myriad of surveillance equipment in both the vehicle and nearby cacti, it is better to be safe than it is to be sorry.

So Cecil, peering into the car to search for its owner, and seeing the abandoned water bottle, and knowing that the water bottle would be missed, takes it. Then he leaves the car more secure than it had been.

He walks into the desert, and does not fear going too far. Helicopters fly overhead, and he takes his eyes off the way forward to look up at them. He knows where he is going. His steps are loud, but maybe crunching isn’t the right word. He knows the word, but he lets it flit away from him, instead of trying to pin it down. He just likes to hear it, to hear the world shifting under him, responding to him. That is enough.

He is looking for a man, and when he happens upon the hunched form in the distance, he jogs until that becomes a distinct person. There is still distance, but only an arm’s reach. 

* * *

Carlos looks up and Cecil looks down, and probably there is nothing that meets in the middle space. But they feel arrows, a line and an angle of contact, and they both smile in the same moment.

“Hi,” Carlos says. “I was just running some experiments on the sand. It’s highly scientific.”

One of his hands is coated in dust. So is the hem of his lab coat. So is all of his lab coat, after a day of desert breezes. Cecil hands him the water bottle, and Carlos takes it in that hand. 

Mud forms in the condensation. He stares at it for a moment, winces. Whether it’s for the mess or contaminating an experimental sample somehow isn’t clear. He quickly smears a heart on the bottle with his fingertip. Then, he pats the patch of ground in front of him.

Cecil sits down, and says, “I just thought you’d need that.”

“I do. Thanks, hon.” Carlos takes a long drink, and it’s like his throat exists in a different space from the rest of him. He closes his eyes and sighs, and the air from his lungs feels cool. He tries to pass the water bottle to Cecil, but the other man just shakes his head.

“Not yet, anyway. I also came to see you.”

“Did you need something?” He adds quickly, “You don’t have to need something to be here. I’m glad you’re here. But I want to know if you need something.”

“You know what? I don’t remember. But… if you don’t mind, sure, I’d like to stay. If it won’t get in the way of your experiments?”

Carlos makes sure to reach out with his clean hand when he brushes Cecil’s cheek, but Cecil grabs the other and presses it against his face, too. Then there is dust on his face, but there are also both of Carlos’ hands on his face, and that is the part that matters.

“It will only enhance the process!” Carlos replies. “There’s a lot of science I still need to do. You can tell me if you make any observations. Like…” He scoops up a handful of sand, and lets it trickle back through his fingers. “How far from the ground did the light look prettiest on the sand? Or does it have the best angle from the ground? I need that kind of data.”

Cecil leans forward, his breath held just behind his teeth, as if releasing it would distract him from the process being explained. When Carlos is done, he says, "Alright."

Carlos nods as Cecil takes a handful of his own, and lets it fall. He watches it, and talks about gold, shadows, and gleaming. That’s exactly what the scientist needs. 

They talk about it together, sometimes at the same time. That usually ends in laughter and apologies - _no, no, you go on, I want to hear what you were going to say_ \- and then there is silence, more than companionable, richer, with as many layers of meaning as there are descriptions of sand. They sit in the desert and talk together until the sun fades.


End file.
